


Whumptober 2019: Good Omens

by LadyWallace



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, BAMF boys, Caretaking, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober 2019, both book and show, but also soft boys, gen - Freeform, hurt aziraphale, whumptober prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: My Good Omens Whumptober 2019 prompts





	1. Day Two: Explosion

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to Day Two of Whumptober, which is my first Good Omens one-shot (I'm posting half GO and half Supernatural this year, so check out my SPN collection as well if you want!)
> 
> I hope you guys all enjoy these! Like usual, some will be directly inspired by the book or inspired by the show, depending on the story.
> 
> I'm also posting all my stories directly to my Tumblr ( @lady-wallace)
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, there are probably inaccuracies in these stories, but please do not comment on them. I'm not trying to write an accurate medical textbook, I'm writing fanfiction about angels and demons. If you can't look past a few inaccuracies for the sake of entertainment, then maybe this isn't for you.
> 
> A/N: This story is set in the 1920s

Aziraphale could tell that the factory was going to explode.

He'd seen it before. It wasn't so long ago when the bloom of the industrial era had introduced the first industrial accidents and disasters. There had been a flour mill and a molasses accident…needless to say Aziraphale hadn't been sent to stop those, he'd just heard about the horrors afterward.

This one, however, had called to his angelic nature, and he flew toward the area as quickly as possible, hoping to save as many lives as he was able to.

When he got there he could hear the shouts of the workers inside. There was a fire, and they were trying to put it out. He swiftly changed his appearance to the rough clothing of a foreman, and rushed inside.

"Everyone out! This place is about to explode!" he cried.

The workers gallantly tried to keep fighting the fire, but Aziraphale urged them to leave, directing them out the front entrance.

As he was ushering another group to safety, he caught sight of a familiar figure through the smoke, doing the same thing. Aziraphale's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open despite himself.

"Crowley!" he exclaimed.

The demon spun around almost sheepishly as he saw the angel.

"Angel," Crowley stuttered.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked as he watched Crowley wave several men forward. Aziraphale caught another who stumbled, doubling over with deep wracking coughs. The smoke was already getting bad in the building and Aziraphale quickly expelled it from the man's lungs, pushing him toward the exit.

"Well, er, was in here trying to do some tempting and all that, when the whole place went up in flames!"

Aziraphale frowned slightly at the story, but didn't have time to quiz the demon further. He just gave a small secret smile as he could imagine why the demon was actually here, though he would never embarrass his friend by letting him know he had caught on. "Oh, well, of course. Looks like the fire did my thwarting for me then, eh?"

"You could say that," Crowley muttered, then turned to the workers still trying to vainly douse the fire with water. "Come on, you idiots! Get out of here—whole bloody place is gonna blow!"

Aziraphale rushed forward to urge them on and out the door, stepping out himself, as he surveyed the coughing workers, taking a quick headcount to check it against the life forms he felt in the vicinity.

Crowley came to stand beside him, face smudged behind his tinted glasses. "Well? Is that all of them?"

"I think…"

"Help!"

Aziraphale was cut off by a weak cry for help somewhere deep in the factory. It was so quiet that only his angelic hearing picked up on it. He gasped, and turned back toward the door. "No, there's still someone in there!"

"Angel, wait! This place won't last two more minutes!" Crowley shouted but Aziraphale was already rushing back into the factory and fighting back the flames that licked at him.

The heat was overwhelming even for him and the smoke was even getting to his lungs. He coughed, thinking perhaps he had been inhabiting a human body for far too long.

"Help!" He heard the cry again, and was finally able to locate it.

It came from up on the catwalk that crossed over the factory so workers could get from one side to the other more quickly. Aziraphale looked around for stairs and rushed up them.

On top, he found two boys huddling together and coughing wretchedly in the smoke. Aziraphale gasped and ran to them, pulling them to their feet, instantly easing their breathing and healing any burns he could sense.

"There we are, I'll get you out of here soon enough," Aziraphale was saying to them. But all the same, he could feel his internal clock ticking. His senses telling him the explosion was only seconds away. He looked around desperately and saw a window at the end of the catwalk. He took the boys by their hands and rushed them over toward it.

"Crowley!" he shouted out the window.

The demon appeared below within seconds, skidding to a stop and looking up. "Aziraphale! What are you doing?" he demanded.

There was no time for explanation. Aziraphale picked one of the boys up.

"What are you doing?" the child croaked, eyes wide as he continued to cough.

"Please, just trust me, child," Aziraphale said gently as he turned to the demon below. "Crowley, catch him!"

"Catch…bloody hell!" The boy screamed as Aziraphale dropped him, unable to feel too bad about it at the moment. Crowley scrambled but caught the boy easily, setting him gently on the ground where he collapsed sobbing.

The second boy stared with wide eyes as Aziraphale grabbed him and did the same.

"Any more waifs up there you want to throw at me?" Crowley demanded from below, clutching the two boys close to him as they had latched onto his legs.

"No, that's all," Aziraphale told him.

"Good, then come down, angel!"

Aziraphale turned to do just that, when he felt it. The fire had finally reached the danger spot. He spun around.

"Crowley get them away from the building!" he shouted just as the explosion tore through the factory.

Aziraphale was thrown from the catwalk with a ball of fire and slammed into the ground below.

After that, it was just darkness.

XXX

The next thing Aziraphale became aware of was something wet and cold running over his face.

"Come on, Aziraphale, you stupid, stupid angel," came a desperate growl from above him. "Do not discorporate, you hear me?!"

Aziraphale parted cracked lips and moaned, eyes fluttering open. Yellow serpentine ones full of worry stared back, hovering only about a foot from him.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale murmured.

The demon rocked back on his heels, relief washing over his features as he ran a hand through his hair.

"You," he growled, "are an utter pillock!"

Aziraphale frowned slightly, but even that motion hurt. He glanced around, realizing he was lying on the sofa in the back of his bookshop. He didn't know how he had gotten there, but decided Crowley must have had something to do with it.

"You can't just go running into burning—no—_exploding_ buildings! Do you want to do all the paperwork that comes with getting a new body?"

"There were children," Aziraphale said simply, still a little dazed. His whole body hurt, and even though he had been draped with a throw, he had the feeling he had quite a few burns. He didn't really want to investigate further at the moment though.

Crowley opened his mouth to protest some more, but simply ground his teeth together and sighed. "Fine. But next time have the courtesy of doing your heroic deeds around someone else. I had to dig through the rubble just to find you—didn't even know there was something _to_ find." Crowley snapped his mouth shut and pressed his lips into a thin line. But Aziraphale could tell how badly his, admittedly stupid yet heroic, stunt had affected the demon.

He surprised Crowley by reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. "And thank you for doing so, my dear," he said with a small, tired smile.

Crowley still looked furious, but he deflated just a bit, setting his jaw and looking away. "S'nothing," he muttered.

But Aziraphale knew it had been a sign of their long friendship, that was only getting stronger by the millennia. And he also knew that he could rest easy and heal, knowing that the demon would likely be staying in the bookshop until he was back on his feet.

It was good to have friends like that, the angel decided.


	2. Day Four: Human Shield

Demons had no loyalty to each other. Not really. Especially not when they had gone off their rocker and suspected you were working with an angel.

Of course, the fact that Crowley actually _was_ working with an angel, was _friends_ with one, actually, was beside the point.

He had been called upon, as usual, to do the dirty jobs on Earth that none of the other demons wanted to do, so when one of their operatives had gone rogue, stealing some special artifact or something from Lord Beelzebub's desk, (as what, a compensation for all the years he'd worked in Hell? Crowley didn't know nor care) who was the one they sent after him?

Crowley. Always Crowley.

Of course, the thought of hunting down a rogue demon alone was even less fun than the thought of having a partner to do it with, so he went to see if Aziraphale would offer him help.

And of course, Aziraphale had agreed, because the angel always did.

Crowley had the feeling that the angel was starting to regret his decision by the time they finally got the demon cornered at a hospital.

"I see they sent the snake after me," the demon sneered. "What I didn't expect was for your friend pigeon to show up."

Aziraphale straightened his shoulders as if indignant at the taunt, and Crowley fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Draco, it's only a job. Look, just give me back whatever you stole from old Beelzebub and I'll even let you go—say you escaped."

Draco laughed and held up his hand, snapping his fingers. Crowley and Aziraphale both flinched as a flame flared up in the demon's palm.

"I'm not going back. I'm going to do something that will get me a commendation like you, Crowley! _I'll_ be the new teacher's pet down in Hell, and once I tell everyone about your angel mate here, I'm sure our positions will be reversed right quick."

Crowley gritted his teeth and glanced over at Aziraphale. The angel had a sword with him, if not his flaming one, but Crowley knew he had a few tricks up his sleeve. So did Crowley. He just didn't expect hellfire to be in the mix—it was about as bad for angels as holy water was for demons.

"And what do you think you're going to do to achieve that, Draco?" Crowley asked.

"I'm going to burn this hospital to the ground!" Draco said, the flame flaring a little higher in his hand.

Crowley frowned. "Really? That's it? You don't get commendations for that kind of stuff, what's that going to do?"

"It's evil," Draco said.

Crowley snorted. "Seriously? I mean, at least tempt someone into setting the fire for you. For Satan's sake, and you wonder why I get commendations all the time—I have a little something called imagination."

"Crowley, don't encourage him," Aziraphale hissed.

"We'll see about that," Draco said. "Just wait until I get a commendation and you end up in the dungeons!"

"Alright, that's enough, stop it," Crowley said, stepping forward.

Aziraphale got ready behind him, his sword held up, hopefully distracting the demon from the power he was gathering into his other hand, readying the take-down smite.

"You know, it's a shame you didn't think of something a little more creative, might have been more tempted to let you go then," Crowley said with a shrug. He glanced back slightly at the angel, and readied to spring to the side to avoid getting hit in the attack. Aziraphale moved to throw his power at Draco and Crowley made to dive to one side, but something snagged him and he was slammed back against Draco's chest, spinning around to meet Aziraphale's horrified face as he fought to pull his powers to bay.

The angel cried out in shock as his powers exploded in midair around his hand.

"Crowley!" he cried as Draco whipped up an ornate dagger—oh, so _that _was the doodad that Draco had stolen from Beelzebub—and pressed it to Crowley's throat threateningly.

"This will hurt him," Draco said sincerely, pulling Crowley back tightly against him, one arm wrapped around his chest and arms, keeping them flush, Crowley's chin tipped up to expose his pale throat to the blade. He was slimmer than Draco, but there was no way anything Aziraphale threw at them would miss him and the angel obviously saw that.

"Let him go," Aziraphale said sharply, taking a firm step forward with his sword raised.

Draco pressed the dagger in just enough to break the skin and Crowley felt his blood drip down his throat. He swallowed hard, the knife bobbing. "Not another step, angel, or I slit his throat. Now you just stay where you are, and let me do what I came to do, then I'll let both of you go."

"Not a chance," Crowley growled and turned to Aziraphale, meeting the angel's eyes over top of his sunglasses. "Just do it, angel."

"No, not while you're in the way!" Aziraphale cried.

Crowley wriggled, and tried to wink at Aziraphale, a plan forming. "Do it, Aziraphale," he insisted. _Trust me_, he mouthed.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line, but obviously figured out that Crowley had some sort of plan, because he started summoning the powers again. Draco laughed, and pressed the dagger harder against Crowley's skin. "Looks like you two aren't as tight as you thought."

"Looks like your grip isn't either," Crowley smirked and shifted to his snake form, slithering to the ground as Draco stood in shock. Crowley darted away and Aziraphale brought up his hand, launching his holy smiting power at the demon.

Draco recovered all too quickly though, and brought his own hand up, summoning the hellfire and throwing it toward the angel and his power.

Crowley saw this all happen in slow motion and made his decision in a split second. He launched himself toward Aziraphale, shifting back to his human form as he tackled the angel to the ground. On the way down, he realized his body wouldn't be enough to shield the angel, and spread his wings as well, unfurling them just in time for the hellfire to explode over their heads.

Crowley ducked, feeling the searing heat envelope them and hearing the scream from Draco as obviously some of Aziraphale's power got through to him after all.

It was over within seconds, but Crowley stayed there, panting, eyes squeezed shut, until Aziraphale stirred underneath him.

"Crowley?" the angel asked.

Crowley finally opened his eyes to see the angel's worried ones staring back. Gingerly, Crowley straightened up, trying to ignore his singed back and wings. Hellfire didn't hurt a demon unless you wanted it to. Nasty clause, that was. Luckily Draco hadn't expected him to be in the line of fire, or he might have amped it up even more. Still, Crowley had gotten some minor burns all the same.

They both staggered to their feet and Aziraphale looked over at the fallen demon. "Is he…?"

Crowley went over and kicked Draco who groaned. "Nah, just down for the count." He turned around to see Aziraphale staring at him with wide eyes. "Wot?"

"My dear, you're smoking," Aziraphale said, striding forward. "Are you hurt? Oh, your wings…"

Crowley glanced back at his appendages, still visible, and saw that they were indeed smoking, some of his feathers burned around the edges. "Ah, I'm fine, really, angel. You wouldn't have been so lucky. I just got a little singed."

Aziraphale didn't really look convinced. "That was still rather foolish of you."

Crowley shrugged. "We got him, didn't we? Don't worry about it." He hauled Draco up to his knees and snapped a pair of handcuffs into existence, bending to gingerly pick up the special dagger, trying to hide a wince as he did so. "I've got to take him in now."

Aziraphale sighed, sheathing his sword finally. "I suppose you must, yes. Just do be careful not to strain yourself, dear. And come for a glass of wine at the bookshop once you're done. I think we could both use one."

Crowley grinned. "Sounds good." He kicked Draco and used his powers to sink into Hell the quick way. He sobered instantly, as he felt the stinging of his back and wings. It wasn't bad, but the thought of what might have happened to Aziraphale if he had been a second too late? No, it didn't bear thinking about.

Crowley was perfectly fine playing the shield to Aziraphale's sword if it meant keeping the angel safe. He'd never been much for swordplay anyway.


	3. Day Six: Dragged Away

"Go, angel!"

Aziraphale barely registered Crowley's words before the demon was shoving him forward and they were sprinting through the darkness of the forest, dashing between the tall trees that rose around them, the only thing offering protection from the full moon.

Not that it would matter anyway, Aziraphale's halo would alert the demons at their heels of just where they were. He swallowed hard with the thought that Crowley would not be able to hide as long as Aziraphale was with him.

They never should have gone to the forest to begin with. Only there had been reports of 'hauntings', people walking in the woods and getting hurt by invisible foes, and there was a graveyard butting against the forest, so it wouldn't be the most unlikely thing. Aziraphale and Crowley had had nothing better to do so they had gone to investigate.

Unfortunately, their ghost was of a more demonic variety—a black dog, set out by demonic masters to lure unsuspecting travelers to their doom.

And now that the demons had caught the scent of the angel and demon, who seemed to be on everyone's most wanted list these days, they were even more overjoyed at what their devious plan had wrought.

"We can see the angel! You can't hide, Crowley!"

"Damn Hastur," Crowley growled as he lashed out at a branch and vaulted over some underbrush. "I'd love to set a black dog on him."

"We'll get away," Aziraphale panted, but he was already flagging. Like Gabriel said, he was soft, though to be fair, he'd never really been all that interested in the exercise of the body.

The sound of ominous barking echoed behind them and Aziraphale saw Crowley clench his teeth, terror visible in his eyes, even past his dark glasses.

And then the woods thinned, and they came out onto a graveyard surrounding an old church.

Aziraphale ran toward it, scrambling over the wrought iron fence frantically, without another thought, but as soon as Crowley tried to do the same, he staggered back with a cry.

"It's consecrated ground!" he hissed.

Aziraphale felt fear well into his throat as he saw the dark shapes rushing toward them through the trees.

"And they won't be able to cross it either!" he said, holding out a hand to Crowley. "Here, just jump over and then stand on one of the crypts!"

But it was too late. The demons poured out of the woods with their dogs barking, growling as they crept closer but not close enough to feel the effects of the holy ground.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hissed, reaching out to grab the demon and haul him over, when Hastur stepped out of the woods.

"It's too late," the demon said with pleasure in his voice. "You're through, Crowley. You're coming with us."

Crowley stood, tense, then reached down to snatch a rock off the ground.

"Crowley what are you doing?" Aziraphale pleaded.

"I won't be able to stand it in there, angel," the demon told him. "And it's not going to do any good if we both get taken." He hurled the rock toward the nearest dog and it hit the hound with a yelp, setting all the others and their handlers off.

"Crowley, don't!" Aziraphale cried, trying to reach for his friend and drag him over the gate himself, but it was too late.

Crowley fought, but Hastur's men had nets and when they threw one around Crowley it was all over. The demon went down hard, his glasses falling off only for Hastur to break them underfoot with cruel glee.

"Stop this right now!" Aziraphale shouted, feeling utterly helpless. He wanted to help Crowley, but his friend was right—it would do no good if both of them were taken, and Aziraphale couldn't go up against all those demons and come out a victor, especially without a decent weapon. So as hard as it was, as much as it played against his character to do so, he stayed within the safety of the holy ground.

Hastur turned to him with a sneer, obviously enjoying himself far too much as the demons beat Crowley into submission. "We'll come for you next, angel, don't worry. You can't hide forever."

"I'll hold you to that," Aziraphale said darkly, glowering at the demon as Hastur snorted and kicked Crowley viciously in the side before he nodded to the demons.

And then Aziraphale was forced to watch them drag his friend away as he stood aside and did nothing.

But not for long. He waited only until the demons were out of his sight and then left the churchyard and the protection of the holy ground, unfurling his wings so he could travel even faster toward his destination.

He made it just in time, to the Hellgate.

Hastur and the demons were dragging Crowley along. He was out of the net, but they had cuffed his hands together behind him and seemed to have put one of the dog collars from the hellhounds and a lead around his throat. Fury at seeing his friend hurt and humiliated in such a way lent power to Aziraphale's plan. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

In reality, it was really just a lightshow, but so close to Heaven's gate as well, the demons bought instantly into the illusion that a dozen angelic warriors were descending the staircase, swords ready to plunge into the enemy. It was enough to make even the most stoic demon soldiers piss themselves in fear.

And of course, (as Aziraphale had hoped) they ran toward their own realm, completely abandoning their prisoner to the mercy of the angelic host.

As soon as they were all gone, Aziraphale killed the illusion and rushed over to his friend who had slumped to the ground, cowering in terror.

"Crowley! Crowley, it's all right, it's only me, dear."

Aziraphale knelt beside his friend and snapped his fingers to open the cuffs and collar, which fell down onto the ground. Crowley blinked up at him cautiously, but seemed to relax as soon as he saw it really was only Aziraphale there.

"That's some stunt you pulled, angel, you almost had me convinced."

"Some stunt _I_ pulled?!" Aziraphale couldn't help but burst out. "You're the one who nearly let yourself get dragged back to Hell! And look you, look what they did to you!"

Aziraphale saw for himself now as he helped Crowley to his feet, just how badly of a beating the demon had taken. Half his face was swollen, giving him a lopsided appearance, and he was favoring one side, quite a bit.

Crowley grimaced, though it was possible he had meant it as a smile. "I'll heal up by tomorrow."

"Nonsense, you'll let me help those along," Aziraphale said firmly. "After we're back at the shop with a nice cup of tea."

"Don't know about you, but I could use something stronger," Crowley grunted, turning to the side and spitting out some blood.

Aziraphale sighed in agreement. "You're quite right. I do believe I could as well."

He helped Crowley back out onto the street and they took a cab back to Soho. Aziraphale kept glancing toward his friend who was rather quiet, and looked to be in pain, not to mention the haunted look in his eyes, bare without his glasses.

Aziraphale could understand. He'd been terrified when Hastur had dragged Crowley away and the angel was sure it had been even worse for Crowley, knowing what was likely to meet him once they took him back to Hell. But they had been lucky this time.

He could only hope that they were so lucky the next time.


	4. Day Seven: Isolation

Aziraphale stood in front of Gabriel and the other archangels, head up, and trying not to tremble. He didn't know what his punishment would be, but he was sure it would not be good.

"I could hurt you," Gabriel told him, and Aziraphale's stomach flipped sickly—a human emotion, yet another one. On one hand he wished he could stop it, and on the other, he was proud he felt this way. That it set him apart from the other angels. Of course, his so called 'too human emotions' were what had led him here, standing in Heaven in front of the archangels, awaiting whatever punishment they thought fit his crime for showing mercy where mercy was apparently not due.

"But I don't think that would teach you a lesson. So we had to get…creative," Gabriel continued, and for some reason this did not make Aziraphale feel any better. In fact, it only made him dread what was coming more. If it had been lashes, a beating, he could have endured it and gone back to earth with his hand firmly slapped. But if Heaven was 'getting creative' with his punishment that did not bode well for him.

He waited for Gabriel to continue, but he didn't. Aziraphale was just marched forward by the guards as Gabriel and the others trailed behind. They made it to an old an unused part of Heaven—this wasn't even the normal prison, Aziraphale realized with growing apprehension—and a door was unlocked.

Aziraphale was left staring into a small, square cell, with nothing but a pair of manacles hanging from the wall. It couldn't have been five feet square.

"Oh, Gabriel," Aziraphale balked, but he was shoved forward and pushed into the hole, the guards manacling his hands as if he would go anywhere—there was barely enough room to move there as it was!

"Nah-ah," Gabriel chided, holding up a finger. "You did wrong, Aziraphale, you have to be punished."

"But since we all know you won't learn by a slap on the wrist…" Michael said ominously. "And you are such a sociable creature, Aziraphale—we thought this was the perfect way to teach you a lesson."

"You can stay in there—alone—until you can learn to obey orders," Gabriel said, barely hiding a satisfied look as the guards started to close the door.

"Gabriel, Michael, please don't!" Aziraphale tried to plead, but it was no good. The door was shut, leaving him in the cramped darkness.

Alone.

XXX

He had no way to tell the passing of time—not the way it was understood on Earth—only interminable minutes, hours, days, of darkness. He tried to stay calm at first, then he had raged, tearing his wrists and bruising his body as he fought the chains and the walls. Then, to his shame, he had wept, overcome with the utter horror of being locked up, completely isolated.

So, so alone.

They were right, and they had somehow gotten right to his fears. Aziraphale hated this more than anything. Yes, he may enjoy long periods of solitude—preferred it, actually, when he had a good book—but he still liked to know he could go down to his favorite teahouse or to the barber, have a chat with the lovely, amazing humans that populated Creation, or reminisce over a glass of wine with Crowley.

The thought of his friend made Aziraphale feel even worse. Crowley had been with him when this had all gone wrong, and he hoped the demon wasn't getting a similar treatment in Hell. Although, considering that saving those people—and children!—had been against Heaven's wishes, Crowley was likely getting a commendation instead of a punishment.

He alone was suffering misery for something that should not have been punishable.

Eventually, he began to feel nothing at all. It was easier just to be numb, and he lay curled in the small cell, every once in a while a tear dripping from the corner of his eye, but nothing else. He had grown too weary to feel much of anything—which is what Gabriel would like most anyway.

He didn't realize the other presence was real at first. He just figured that he was hallucinating now. He hadn't been before, but he was sure that would happen eventually after being alone for so long.

It was the insistent hissing that made him blink finally and his eyes adjusted into the dark to see a long, curled body in front of him.

"_Aziraphale!_" the hissing finally became as Aziraphale allowed himself to tune into it.

"Mm," Aziraphale murmured, hardly having the ability to speak.

"_Angel, I was looking all over for you!" _Crowley—and it was Crowley—hissed, panic in his voice. "_You've been missing over a month!"_

Aziraphale blinked and finally registered what he was actually seeing. Not an illusion, but an actual snake. The snake that was the form of his friend.

"Cro—Crowley?" he managed, his voice cracked and hollow to his own ears.

"_Of course, angel, who else would it be?"_

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered and to his shame he started weeping in gratitude. So relieved that he wasn't alone in this horrid place anymore.

Crowley didn't say anything, perhaps he didn't know what to say. But he instead did the only thing he could and wrapped himself around Aziraphale, hissing soothingly to him as the angel let the tears fall onto the unforgiving stone floor of his cell.

XXX

Crowley stayed with him in snake form for the remainder of his sentence, and when they finally came to take Aziraphale back to Gabriel to see if he was repentant, Crowley made himself as small as possible and hid in Aziraphale's pocket.

"Have you learned your lesson, Aziraphale?" Gabriel asked.

Aziraphale trembled, unable to meet the other angel's eyes. He wanted to be defiant, but he knew—he _knew_—he could not go through that again. Not now. So he said what they wanted to hear so that they would let him go.

"Yes," he whispered, bowing his head in submission. He could feel Crowley trembling with rage in his pocket and hoped he would not give himself away.

"Good," Gabriel said shortly. "Hopefully, you'll remember to obey the orders you are given next time."

And then they let him go, just like that. As if they hadn't left him in a hole for two months to prove some point.

He went, sent back to Earth, and as he stepped out on the street he found it suddenly so overwhelming—horribly so. After being in isolation so long, it was all too much.

He stopped, shaking, and didn't realize Crowley had left his pocket until the demon appeared in his human form, gripping Aziraphale's shoulder tightly, as if anchoring him.

"Aziraphale? Angel, are you okay?" he asked, worry in his eyes.

Aziraphale couldn't stop shaking. He only just managed to shake his head, hands wringing with anxiety he had never felt before.

Somehow, Crowley ushered him into the Bentley and started driving, cursing quietly at the radio when it wouldn't play the soothing Handel he wanted it to, but soon they came to the bookshop and Crowley took Aziraphale inside, settled him into his favorite chair, a blanket over his lap and a cup of cocoa in his hands, just the right temperature.

In the familiar surroundings, Aziraphale finally settled and started to breathe more easily, touching his chair, the blanket, tasting the cocoa—reminding himself that he was no longer in that hole in Heaven.

Finally he looked up at Crowley and met his friend's eyes. The demon had taken his glasses off, his hands clenching nervously at his sides, watching the angel as if he were afraid he might shatter. Aziraphale would like to reassure him, but at the moment, he honestly wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't simply fall apart if pushed too far.

"Is…is there anything I can do?" Crowley asked, sounding helpless.

Aziraphale let out a long breath and forced a smile onto his lips even if he knew it didn't reach his eyes. "Just…stay, dear. Please."

The demon softened and he sank slowly into the chair opposite. "I wouldn't dream of leaving, angel."


	5. Day Ten: Unconscious

Aziraphale rushed through the gathered crowds on the street, heart in his throat. He wasn't going to believe it until he had seen it.

But it was true. He saw the Bentley first, from the back it didn't look so bad, but from the front…oh heavens, Crowley was going to be so upset!

But that wasn't the worst part of it either. The worst part was the figure lying on the ground in the middle of a circle of people—flashes of dark clothes and red hair could be seen between their legs.

Aziraphale pushed himself through, reminding the people around him that they had somewhere else to be, and as they dispersed with slightly confused eyes, he knelt beside the crumpled form of his friend.

"Crowley," he whispered, reaching out and touching the demon's arm, half expecting him to simply sit up now that the people were gone. "Come now, Crowley. I've sent them away, you don't have to pretend anymore."

Crowley still didn't move, and something caught hold of Aziraphale's lungs and squeezed.

He glanced up at the Bentley, saw its windscreen smashed from where Crowley had gone through it. Crowley's head, more precisely, as that was obviously the part that had taken the brunt. Aziraphale gripped the demon's chin and gently turned his head to the side so see the full extent of the injury.

He was nearly sick. The left side of Crowley's skull was covered in blood, making his red hair even more red and sticky, and there was an overall…softness to his skull, like it had been bashed in. After spending time on battlefields, Aziraphale knew the look well enough.

For a second, he thought sickly that Crowley had discorporated in which case…well, he didn't know what awaited his friend if he was sent back to Hell now that they weren't really welcome at either of their home offices. He'd be lucky to get a new body.

But with a bit of relief flooding in, Aziraphale could still feel the demon's essence in his vessel, he wasn't gone.

"Right then, dear boy," Aziraphale said, putting himself to the task of caring for his friend. "Let's get you home."

Crowley's flat was just a block down the street and Aziraphale quickly cleaned up the crash, repairing the Bentley and moving it to park on the side of the street before he simply lifted Crowley over his shoulder and carried him back to the demon's flat.

Aziraphale got Crowley into his bed, removing his ridiculous snakeskin boots before spreading a blanket over him and going for some cloths to clean his injury up.

Crowley didn't stir through the whole process and Aziraphale got more and more worried. Perhaps it would just take longer for him to heal since they were no longer attached to Hell or Heaven? They hadn't exactly had to put that to the test yet. Aziraphale really didn't want to know what would happen if that was true. Perhaps he should have let those people call the emergency services after all.

He cleaned Crowley's head though, and to his relief, it did seem to be getting a little better. And he adding a little healing of his own. He couldn't do much—angels weren't made to heal demons and it was quite difficult to get it to work or to stick—but he was glad to see that his friend was breathing a little better and resting more comfortably after his attempt.

Aziraphale cleaned up the bloody cloths, then pulled a chair over to the side of Crowley's bed, tucking his blankets closer around his shoulders as he watched anxiously for the demon to show any signs of waking.

It was a nerve-wracking wait. Crowley had a few books that Aziraphale flipped through, not really seeing anything as the hours passed. Once, he got up to make a cup of tea, needing something to calm his nerves. He could tell Crowley was healing, but the demon still hadn't showed any sign of waking, and it was really starting to wear on Aziraphale.

Then finally, _finally_, as Aziraphale was pacing nervously around the room, freshening up the potted plants Crowley kept on multiple surfaces, and murmuring to them softly in his nervousness, Crowley stirred and groaned.

Aziraphale whipped around and rushed to the side of the bed just as the demon opened his yellow eyes.

"Crowley! Why, how are you, dear?" Aziraphale asked, leaning over with a worried expression.

Crowley grunted and pulled a hand from under his blanket to press against his head. "Ngk, wot 'appened?"

"You got into an accident with your automobile," Aziraphale told him.

Crowley's eyes widened. "The Bentley? Is it all right?"

Aziraphale huffed in indignation. Of course that was the first thing Crowley would ask about. "Yes, yes. I fixed it for you. But Crowley, you were unconscious for hours! That's not normal, dear!"

Crowley pushed himself up against his pillows, cringing slightly. "Yeah, it's not, I guess. Feel a little woozy still."

Aziraphale let out a short sigh and slumped back into the chair. "I was worried…well, I thought perhaps you would discorporate. And then…" He trailed off but by the look on Crowley's face the demon had understood where he was coming from.

Crowley swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I didn't so…wahoo?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the fond smile. "Yes. I suppose 'wahoo' sums it up. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Please," Crowley replied.

Aziraphale busied himself fetching another cup of tea for Crowley, but he couldn't help but wonder if the slow healing was a fluke, or something that would be the new normal—or would it get worse the longer they stayed away from Heaven and Hell? He didn't really want to think about that. And really, at the end of the day, neither of them had been discorporated so, yes, he supposed that was a good thing.

In the meantime, he was going to make sure Crowley was comfortable and keep his friend company while he finished recovering.


	6. Day Twelve: "Don't Move"

The building was falling down anyway, and Crowley knew it was only a matter of time before it collapsed so why not use that to their advantage?

"Hey, Hastur!" he called, sticking his tongue out at the approaching demon in a rude gesture before skipping off through the old building.

"Angel," he hissed to Aziraphale. "Get ready!"

"I still don't like this plan," Aziraphale hissed back.

"Crowley, I know you and that angel are in there!" Hastur called from the entrance of the building. _Just a little closer_, Crowley urged silently.

"Yeah, well, we don't have another one," he told the angel. "Besides, I'd love to see Hastur smashed under a fallen building."

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn't disagree.

"You're right, Hastur, we're here; come get us!" Crowley called, sure the stupid demon would fall for that.

And he did. Hastur growled in anger and stormed into the old house, looking for them.

"Now, Aziraphale!" Crowley called as he dashed to his place.

He could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck as Aziraphale summoned his powers. He moved to do the same, when a shape suddenly materialized out of the shadows and snagged him, just as he was about ready to shoot off his powers.

Maybe Hastur wasn't so stupid after all.

"Gah!" Crowley cried, his powers shooting wide and hitting the roof as Hastur hauled him around and slammed him against the wall.

"There you are," the demon grinned nastily.

"Crowley!"

Aziraphale must have heard the confrontation because Crowley could hear him approaching. He glanced up at the ceiling where he'd hit it and saw it was cracking.

Hastur followed his eyes and grinned, which was not a pretty sight. "Looks like your little pal is going to get caught in the trap you set for me."

Crowley's breath escaped in realization. "Angel, stop! Don't come any closer!"

But his words were swallowed by the roof collapsing, crashing down. Dust roiled in the air as Crowley and Hastur both leapt aside, away from the disaster.

Hastur, like the scum he was, took that as a cue to leave. "Looks like you've got enough to deal with. I'll come back for you later. I want you to be the one to find what's left of your precious angel."

Crowley lay on the ground hacking up dust from his lungs, and scrambled to his knees. He ignored Hastur as the demon laughed and ran out of the house and instead tried to get to his feet.

"Aziraphale!" he cried, eyes streaming from the dust. "Angel!"

He waved his hands, using a little power to disperse the dust and force it to settle, then he clambered toward the fallen rubble.

"Aziraphale, I swear by all that's unholy, if you don't answer me…"

A weak cough answered his unspoken prayer and Crowley threw himself in that direction, starting to haul debris away.

"Cr-Crow-ley."

The barely whispered voice caught the demon's ear and he grunted in effort as he lifted a patch of ceiling tile to reveal the angel.

"Aziraphale!" he gasped, collapsing on his knees next to his friend.

Aziraphale was caught under a pile of debris from the collapse, his face was dusted as pale as a ghost, and blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. One hand was free, grasping weakly at the beam across his chest, but the rest of him was pinned fast against the unforgiving ground.

"Angel, are you hurt bad?" Crowley demanded, afraid to touch him.

Aziraphale shifted, wincing. "I don't…" He coughed and blood decorated his lips, a splash of too red on his otherwise pale face. "Oh, dear." He started to push on the bean across his chest again but only managed to aggravate his obviously damaged ribs more, choking up even more blood.

"Don't move," Crowley nearly pleaded, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from the beam. "Please, just…don't move." He was thinking frantically. He knew Aziraphale wouldn't be able to heal if he was still trapped, the beam putting pressure on his ribs, but would Crowley be able to lift it off him and get Aziraphale out from under it at the same time?

Aziraphale let out a wet gurgle, choking on a breath that was far too labored for Crowley's liking. He would discorporate if he couldn't heal, like any human in this position, and if he did, was there any chance that Heaven would even bother to give him a new body?

"Hold on, angel," Crowley murmured. "I'll have you out of there. Just please, don't move."

Aziraphale gave a small moan that Crowley hoped was acquiescence and started in on the debris.

He cleared all the easy stuff first, so he could see what he was dealing with, and realized with horror that Aziraphale had been trapped with two beams—one across his chest and another one across his legs.

Crowley bit his lip as he surveyed the issue and decided to start with the one on Aziraphale's legs.

"Okay, I'm getting you out, just hold tight."

He shifted it slowly, and Aziraphale moaned. Crowley gritted his teeth and heaved, desperate to get it off of his friend.

The pile of wreckage shifted and Crowley just barely realized what was happening before it was too late.

He lunged forward, putting himself between Aziraphale and the debris that was going to crash on top of him again. He cried out, feeling splinters and nails dig into his back and shoulders.

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasped, reaching for him as if to help, when the shift caused him to croak out a wheeze. A second later frothy blood dribbled from his mouth, indicating a damaged lung.

"Aziraphale, don't move!" Crowley reminded him. He growled in frustration and shoved the heavy debris off of him, then with one movement, he snatched hold of the beam pinning the angel to the ground, lifted it up and shoved the other beam under it before grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders and sliding him away from immediate danger.

Aziraphale gave a wheezing whimper of pain as Crowley collapsed backward as the debris settled a second later. He took one second to breath then turned to the angel, attempting to do what he could to ease his injuries.

"Aziraphale? Can you hear me? Are you healing?"

His angelic glow was so soft, Crowley could barely see it. He took his glasses off to better indicate whether it was there or not. It was, but faint. Aziraphale kept wheezing, and Crowley placed a hand against his damaged chest, pushing what healing he could into the angel.

It helped a little, but Aziraphale would have to do the rest.

Crowley settled back, propping the angel's head on his knee. He loosened the silly bow-tie to help Aziraphale breathe.

"You'll be fine, just rest and heal," Crowley told him.

He didn't know how long they sat there, it felt like an eternity as Aziraphale winced through the healing process, ribs and lungs repairing themselves. Crowley watched his halo become slowly brighter.

And then finally Aziraphale opened his eyes, meeting Crowley's and, of course, he looked concerned.

"You look so worried, my dear."

Crowley's eyes blew wide, taken aback. "Worried? Oh, I have no idea why! Maybe because you _nearly discorporated_!"

Aziraphale sighed and shifted to sit up, hands pressing against his chest and dusting himself off with a little frown. "Yes, well, I told you it was a bad idea."

Crowley's mouth hung open. He didn't think he had ever wanted to deck the angel as much as he did now.

He snatched his glasses from the ground and stood up. "Yes, yes, fine, let's just get out of here. Hastur might still be hanging around."

He offered a hand to Aziraphale and the angel stood.

"Thank you, Crowley," the angel said softly.

Crowley shifted awkwardly. "Egh, 'snothing."

Aziraphale smiled and they left together, picking their way through the wreckage.

Crowley was pretty sure the angel was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If you guys have been enjoying my whumptober prompts so far, perhaps consider buying me a coffee on Ko-Fi if you are so inclined ^_^ Caffeine is always a huge incentive for the muse. 
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/ladywallace


	7. Chapter Fourteen: Waterlogged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing another of the Alternate Whumptober prompts for today so changing this to alt#12 "Waterlogged" (and I bet you can guess this is something to do with wings XD)
> 
> I have two more GO prompts in a row, so expect more Crowley&Azi tomorrow!

Crowley sometimes wondered how he managed to get into the situations that he did. After all, who else would be dumb enough to fall into a bog on the moors _while_ he had his wings out.

Struggling didn't help, it only made him sink further, and though he didn't need to breathe, the thought of being trapped in the muddy, sucking bog made Crowley want to struggle even more. His wings flapped helplessly, until they got stuck and then began to drag him down.

He scrambled for any purchase he could get, a rock, a particularly resilient gorse bush, _anything. _

But there was nothing to hand. What he really needed right now was a miracle.

And then, lo and behold, a miracle came out of the blue.

Crowley knew he and the angel had an uncanny ability to stumble across each other, but this time…well, dare he say it, he might actually claim _divine _intervention if he didn't know better.

"Hey, angel!" he cried.

Aziraphale looked around with a frown and Crowley growled in frustration before shouting, "Help!"

Aziraphale caught sight of him then and his eyes widened, rushing over, bags and strange boxes slung over his shoulders started clattering in a disjointed cacophony. Crowley frowned at him. What, did the angel think he was a naturalist now?

"Crowley? Is that you? Oh, my dear boy, what happened?"

"Careful, don't you fall in too," Crowley warned and Aziraphale stopped, throwing off some of his gear. He held out the strap what looked to be a bug box or something and pushed it as close as he could get to Crowley.

"Here, grab this!"

Crowley stretched, fingers scrabbling against the leather strap before finally getting a good grip on it.

Aziraphale pulled and Crowley grunted, trying to help.

"Don't struggle, it will make it harder for me to get you out," Aziraphale told him. "Just stay still."

Crowley forced himself to stay limp and let Aziraphale do the work as the angel heaved him up out of the mud.

Finally, Crowley was free and collapsed with a gasp of relief on the ground next to the angel who had fallen back onto his bum.

"Ugh," Crowley groaned. He tried to move his wings as he sat up but they were soaked and coated in bog mud, the feathers sticking together in a way that made him cringe just to think about. It would be nearly impossible to clean them.

"What were you doing out here?" Aziraphale asked, standing up and brushing himself off as he began to gather his stuff.

Crowley looked down sheepishly. "I, erm, got lost."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn't say anything else. Crowley quickly changed the subject. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

"Oh, well, the moors have a fantastic collection of flora and fauna," the angel said with all too much enthusiasm. "I've taken up naturalism. It's all the rage."

"Ugh," Crowley grunted, wrinkling his nose, and stood up. His wings nearly dragged him down with the added weight and he staggered.

Aziraphale reached out to grab his elbow. "Oh, dear, that won't do," he tutted. "Come on, there's a river not too far, we can go over there to get your wings washed off."

Crowley grunted and trudged off, following the angel as his wings dragged painfully behind him. They were so heavy that after a few moments, his back and shoulders began to ache, but he couldn't return them to the ethereal plane like this, they were too coated with uck.

He was faltering halfway to the river, and his dragging feathers were getting so tattered he didn't even want to think about it. Aziraphale took mercy and grabbed his elbow to steady him.

"Not too much farther," he promised.

And then they finally did see the river and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. He sat on a rock and Aziraphale dumped his stuff, finding a glass box among the things that he could use as a bucket and began to take water from the river, pouring it over Crowley's wings.

The first one had Crowley howling. "That's bloody cold, angel!" he screeched.

"I'm sorry, Crowley, but this is the only way we're getting that off."

Crowley shivered, but clenched his teeth and endured.

It took nearly an hour to wash all the mud out of his feathers and he was sure there was still some in there. He was chilled to the bone and his wings were only a little less heavy because now they were waterlogged. He stood up and shook off as much water as he could but it did little good and his wings looked utterly terrible. Embarrassing.

Aziraphale must have noticed the slump in his shoulders and the shivering—and how could he bloody miss it, Crowley's teeth were chattering like mad—and patted Crowley on the shoulder. "Come now, dear, the house I'm staying in is not far from here. I'll build a fire and make you a nice cup of tea."

Crowley never thought tea sounded so nice. He nodded, clutching his arms around his thin body as he followed the angel across the moor.

By the time they got there, Crowley felt even more cold thanks to the chill wind that was incessant out on the moors, and he thought he had caught a sniffle. He sneezed experimentally and, feeling particularly sorry for himself at the moment, decided it was true.

But within minutes Aziraphale had him in the small kitchen, sitting him on a stool in front of the fire he built and then wrapped a blanket around him as he went about making tea.

Crowley clutched the hot mug in his hands and shivered, feeling the warmth seep into him.

"There now, just relax and warm up, I'll see what I can do about your poor wings," Aziraphale told him.

Crowley sipped the tea, leaning closer to the fire and watched the dancing flames as Aziraphale sorted out his feathers, grooming them carefully, the action working most of the water out of them as well as the rest of the mud, and setting them to rights again.

Crowley sighed in relief, not shivering so much anymore.

"There, all done, they look a lot better now," Aziraphale said.

They felt a lot better. Crowley spread his wings out and let the heat from the fire dry them the rest of the way as Aziraphale refilled his cup and got one for himself, pulling another stool over to the fire.

Crowley closed his eyes in contentment. He was suddenly very grateful Aziraphale just happened to wander past him, otherwise he might have still been in that bog, or swallowed by it.

Maybe he should be thanking _somebody_ for his fortune after all.


	8. Day Fifteen: Scars

"Over here, angel?" Crowley called from across the shop.

Aziraphale looked up to where Crowley was in the shelves, and nodded. "Yes, that's it, those volumes right there."

Crowley grumbled as he got onto a step stool and reached for the books they needed, grumbling to himself. "Angel, there are ten bloody volumes here! Come over and I'll hand them down to you."

Aziraphale huffed a sigh and left the book he was researching with to stand under the shelf as Crowley started plucking the books they needed off.

"Careful," Aziraphale snipped as Crowley practically dropped one onto the floor. "These are very valuable and old!"

Crowley wrinkled his nose, and Aziraphale could tell he was rolling his eyes even behind his glasses. He scanned the shelves again to see if they had missed anything and caught sight of another book. "Oh, and that big red one up there too, dear."

"Aziraphale, what are we even going to do with all this stuff? There's only the two of us to get through all of this, you know," Crowley asked incredulously as he put the final volume in the set onto the stack in Aziraphale's arms and glanced up to a higher shelf where the other tome the angel had requested sat.

"I want to know everything about wards that I can," Aziraphale said. "And you should too, you know how demons hold a grudge."

Crowley grunted in affirmation, reaching for the other book, standing on tiptoe on the stool which wasn't quite tall enough.

"Do you need the stepladder?" Aziraphale asked, setting the stack of books on one of the tables.

Crowley growled, hopping slightly as he strained to reach the book. His fingers grazed it but he had to stretch farther to get a good hold. The action caused his shirt to come untucked and ride up his lower back, an action which made Aziraphale gasp when he caught sight of what was beneath.

"Crowley, what happened to your back, dear?"

The demon spun around, almost tipping the stool over as he snatched the back of his shirt and yanked it down again. "Nothing!" he said too quickly.

Aziraphale frowned, confused by his friend's strange reaction. Perhaps he was embarrassed as to how he had come about the injury. "Crowley, if you're hurt, I could help…"

"No, I said I'm fine, angel!" Crowley hissed and gave one last hop, snagging the book and stepping off the stool, practically throwing it at Aziraphale's chest. "Let's look at your books."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow as Crowley walked deliberately back to the table. Something was definitely going on with his friend and he was determined to find out what.

They split up the books and looked through them. It was hours of work and there was a lot of tea consumed. Aziraphale was so engrossed in his research that, at first, he hadn't realized Crowley had nodded off, head pillowed on his arms over top of the book.

Aziraphale sighed, but couldn't really blame the demon. Crowley got bored easily and research was not something he found as riveting as the angel did. Aziraphale would let him nap for a little while, then wake him up again to help a little later.

He got up to refill his tea cup when he suddenly recalled Crowley's strange reaction to Aziraphale asking about the mark on his back.

He paused, hesitating. He really shouldn't pry... Crowley would be furious with him, and yet if his friend was hurt, Aziraphale didn't want him to think he had to keep that secret. A peek to see how bad it was couldn't hurt, surely. Not when it was for a good reason and born of worry for his friend.

Decided, Aziraphale set his cup down and carefully took hold of the back of Crowley's shirt as the demon was slumped forward, easing it up his back carefully.

Every inch revealed a new horror.

The only comfort Aziraphale had was that these were not fresh wounds, but they had been at one time, and anything that could leave scars like this on a demon—or an angel for that matter—would not have been something Crowley would have just shaken off. Someone had caused him considerable pain, over a long period of time by the state of the scars. Aziraphale let out a sharp gasp, unable to help himself.

Crowley stirred and jerked away as he whipped around to see Aziraphale staring at him with horror. "What the heaven are you doing?" he demanded.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale tried, unable to form words.

Crowley's jaw tightened and his mouth twisted. "Why are you poking your nose where it doesn't belong, angel? Don't you know it's rude to pry into other people's business?"

Aziraphale felt indignation surge through him and he folded his arms across his chest. "Because if someone hurt my best friend, that _is_ my business!"

Crowley's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He slumped back down at the table, and took his glasses off, rubbing a hand over his face. His shoulders were hunched and he was curled in on himself in a way that was not very much like Crowley.

"Please, Crowley," Aziraphale said quietly. "Who did this to you?"

"Doesn't matter anymore," Crowley murmured, his arms pulled tight to his chest.

"Hell did this?" Aziraphale asked, though it was more of a statement.

Crowley played with the hem of his sleeve, picking at it until it started to fray. "That's what they did when I….disappointed them." He admitted finally, cringing.

Aziraphale sat down across from the demon again so as not to loom over him. "But the scars!"

"They made sure it hurt," Crowley gritted out. "What good is a lesson without a reminder?"

Aziraphale sat back, mulling this over with the turmoil roiling inside of him. There were so many scars on Crowley's back, and perhaps elsewhere too. He'd always assumed from the demon's smug comments about his commendations that he was favored in Hell. But now…he wondered how much of the time Crowley had spent in their disapproval. And, even more horrifying a thought, how much of it had been because of things Crowley had done as part of their Arrangement?

"My dear, I…" Aziraphale swallowed hard. "I never knew."

"I didn't want you to," Crowley spat, curling into himself even further, looking uncomfortable. "I don't want you to now!"

"I don't think any less of you," Aziraphale told him, thinking that this might be part of Crowley's issue. "It's not your fault."

"That's not what they said down there," Crowley gritted out.

Aziraphale reached across the table and touched Crowley's arm. "Well, they were wrong. And they were wrong to do that to you."

"That's beside the point, angel," Crowley muttered. "It wasn't right or wrong, it was just…how things are done. I'm bloody glad I'm out."

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes. I'm glad you are too. I didn't realize how bad it was."

"It's Hell, angel, it's not exactly a holiday destination," Crowley quipped, rolling his eyes.

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. "Yes, you're right. But you don't have to go back now. And we should make sure the demons will not bother you again." He turned back to the books, renewed energy to research filling him with this new purpose. "Let's find out how to do that."

Crowley sighed, but seemed to relax a little as he grabbed a new book and started looking through it.

Aziraphale stole glances at his friend, but Crowley seemed to be all right. He _would_ make sure the demons never laid a hand on him again though.

And if they did, they would have an angel's wrath to reckon with.


	9. Day Seventeen: "Stay With Me"

Crowley stared up at the sky—trillions of tiny blinking lights stared down at him. At least there was that, he thought as his fingers twined through the bloody grass underneath him. If he was going to die, he'd much rather it be out here under the stars than anywhere else, and really, what was death? He'd discorporate, sure, but he would be back soon. Maybe. Depending on how much paperwork Hell made him do to get his body back.

Really, it wouldn't be so bad if it didn't hurt so much.

Of course, having a whopping great spear through your middle was enough to make even a supernatural being cringe.

He hated getting caught in battles. He needed a holiday. Perhaps he would take one after he got his new body.

Something spasmed in his diaphragm and he felt blood bubbling up in his throat. He choked, turning his head to one side and coughing. The hot liquid—metallic with a hint of sulfur—dribbled down his cheek. He felt darkness encroaching on his vision, and knew it had nothing to do with the night.

Yep, this looked like it.

And then a new light, brighter even than the stars, appeared and he felt a surge of fear at first, recognizing it as an angelic halo. If an angel found him here, death by spear might be a mercy. He was pretty sure a smiting was permanent for the likes of him.

Good thing it happened to be the one angel who would have mercy on a demon, or, more specifically, this demon in particular.

He coughed again, unable to help it, and Aziraphale made a beeline for him, face horrified as he saw the figure lying on the ground.

"Crowley?" he gasped, kneeling beside the demon.

"Yeah," Crowley rasped. "Funny seeing you here."

"Oh, but, you're…you're hurt," Aziraphale said.

Crowley spent a little energy rolling his eyes. "Understatement."

All the talking however, left him in even more pain. He choked up more blood and Aziraphale touched his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"What can I do?" he asked. "I'll go get a couple of the men, have them carry you back to camp—you can recover there. I'll only be a second."

He made to stand but Crowley reached out and snagged his sleeve. "No, don't," he croaked. "I—I can't get this spear out myself, and I'm gonna discorporate anyway, angel. No way around it with this."

"Crowley…" Aziraphale shook his head. "Please, just let me go get help, I can better tend your wounds back in camp."

He made to stand again and Crowley growled, suddenly terrified at the thought of being left alone—of _dying_ alone.

"Angel," he nearly pleaded, cringing at the weakness in his voice. "Just…stay with me."

Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment, then pressed his lips together decisively as his face softened. "Of course, my dear. If that's what you want."

Crowley relaxed slightly, and tilted his head back to look at the stars again. "Thanks. Now take the spear out."

"Crowley, you could die!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Crowley demanded before whimpering, closing his eyes. "Please, it…it hurts."

A look of determination passed over Aziraphale's face and to Crowley's relief, he reached out and gripped the spear. "Very well. But I certainly won't let you die if I can help it."

"Angel," Crowley sighed.

Aziraphale ignored him and took hold of the spear with both hands, gave Crowley a look to ready himself and then pulled.

White agony tore thorough Crowley and he screamed, arching off the ground before collapsing back, grasping at the bloody hole through him. Blood surged up through his throat and he curled onto his side to vomit.

"Crowley," Aziraphale called, hands on him, soothing. "Relax, just relax."

Crowley wanted to shout at him for his stupidity. How was he supposed to relax when he was bloody _dying_? But then he felt the angel's hand over the wound in his stomach and Aziraphale started glowing.

"Ngh," Crowley groaned, the angel's power like lightning in his veins, painful and burning. He wanted this all to be over. He closed his eyes and felt his essence leaving this plane of existence.

"No, Crowley!" Aziraphale said with determination and the lightning intensified. "Stay with me!"

Whether intentional or not, Aziraphale echoing Crowley's words from before made him pause. He took a breath, and then another, and felt himself grow a little steadier, a little more attached to his body again, even if he was in some of the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life.

But Aziraphale didn't stop with his attempted healing until Crowley was practically begging.

Finally, the angel pulled his hand away and Crowley ceased his writhing on the ground, collapsing, limply, just panting, feeling way too in tune with his human shaped body.

"That's all can I do for now, my dear," Aziraphale said and reached out to wipe the blood from around Crowley's mouth. "It's most difficult to heal demons."

Crowley's eyes slitted open, and despite Aziraphale's tutting, he pushed himself—with great effort—up onto his elbows, hauling his tunic up to see the wound.

It was still ugly, but mostly closed. He could tell that the internal damage was at least healed. He glanced up at the angel.

"How…"

Aziraphale gave him a small smile. "Well, it's not perfect, but I don't think you'll be discorporating. Now, let's get back to camp. It's not far and you'll be much more comfortable resting up and healing there."

Crowley didn't even bother to protest, simply allowed Aziraphale to help him up and do most of the walking back to the camp.

He was still shaking a little from the trauma, and he was certainly feeling the pain, but he was alive and he hadn't expected that fifteen minutes ago.

Maybe even demons could have guardian angels.


	10. Day Twenty: Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is set sometime during the Roman era.

Aziraphale clutched the bloody sword in his hands as he knelt in the dirt.

He hadn't meant for this to happen, but the man had left him no choice. He would not tolerate raiders with such vulgar inclinations towards the townspeople. He had tried to reason with the man…he just hadn't listened.

"Angel? What the Heaven are you doing out here?"

Aziraphale was barely shocked to see Crowley on the scene. He had known the demon was close by, after all.

He reached up and rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand as it itched, pulling it away to find blood smeared across his skin. He began to tremble and couldn't stop. His hands returned to the sword and gripped it tighter.

Crowley's hobnailed boots crunched close to him and he reached down to grip Aziraphale under the elbow. "Come on, angel, you can't stay out here."

Aziraphale could barely stand for all his trembling, but he got his feet under him with Crowley's help and allowed the demon to lead him to a small house where he was sat directly in front of the fire.

Crowley huffed a sigh and crouched in front of him, reaching out to grip the sword Aziraphale hadn't realized he was still holding. "Come on, Aziraphale, let it go."

Aziraphale shook, but forced his fingers to release the hilt of the blade. Crowley simply tossed it into a corner as if it had personally offended him. Then he went to fetch a bowl of water and a cloth, setting it on a small table beside Aziraphale.

"Here, clean up," he said, taking the cloth and wringing it out.

Aziraphale gratefully washed his hands and Crowley helped him wipe the blood spatter off his face.

Aziraphale watched the bowl of water turn pink from the blood and swallowed thickly. Crowley finished quickly and took the bowl away.

Aziraphale clasped his now clean hands in his lap, then wrapped his arms around himself as he continued to tremble, still seeming unable to stop. The blood may be gone, but he could still feel it.

He startled when Crowley came back with a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"What are you doing here, Aziraphale?" the demon asked as he knelt by the hearth and snapped his fingers to make the coals burn brighter, hanging a small pot on a hook above the flames.

"I go where I'm needed," the angel replied quietly.

Crowley pressed his lips together, but didn't say anything.

Aziraphale tugged the blanket around him and after a few long moments of silence he said. "I've never killed anyone before. I didn't want to, but…b-but he m-made me."

A look crossed Crowley's face, but he fought it back after a moment. "Don't cry over him, angel, he was scum."

"Yes, and, God forgive me, but I don't feel sorry he's dead. I only…I only wish that…I hadn't been the one who had to do it."

He buried his face in his hands, shaking all over again. After a second, Crowley's long fingers curled around the back of his neck and squeezed.

"I know it's hard, angel, but think of all the people he would have hurt," Crowley told him. "Think of the people you _saved._" He snorted. "You and your fantastical stories and epics. You should know that heroes aren't all glory and honor in real life. They have to do the dirty work—sometimes more than the bad guys. Only difference is they feel bad about it when they're done."

Aziraphale sniffed and wiped his eyes, finally looking up at Crowley. "I believe you're right."

Crowley shrugged. "Yeah, usually am. You should learn to listen to me more." He turned back to the fire a bit self-consciously and took the pot off, filling two mugs. One he handed to Aziraphale and the angel wrapped his hands around it, smelling the warm, spiced wine.

He clutched the cup, feeling the warmth seep into his body as he took a sip, and his trembling finally began to subside. Crowley sat on a stool beside him, watching him, and seemed satisfied that he was doing better.

Aziraphale knew that he would never get used to killing—after all, if he did, what would that make him? And he certainly hoped he would never have to do it again, but at the end of the day, he supposed he would rather feel something than nothing.

After all, being a hero was definitely not an easy job.


	11. Day Twenty-Two: Hallucination

Aziraphale mopped Crowley's brow, wishing he could do more. They never should have gone looking for those artifacts, but they were dangerous, and they would have been even more dangerous to humans, which neither of them wanted. So they had gone to try and dispose of the cursed objects themselves.

Unfortunately, they'd had more of an effect on non-humans than Aziraphale had anticipated and in the process of liberating them from their long-lost resting place about to be dangerously unearthed by construction, Crowley had dropped a box and let out some kind of hex.

Now he was acting like he was fevered, except demons didn't get fevers, and Aziraphale didn't know what to do. Crowley had been out of it since the curse had taken over him and though Aziraphale had been able to contain it again, he wasn't sure what he needed to do next to help his friend. So he'd just tucked him safely in on the couch in his back room to wait out whatever was going to happen.

XXX

Crowley felt heat lick at him and his eyes flew open.

Flames. Flames engulphed the familiar surroundings of the bookshop and he leapt up with a shout of horror. No. It couldn't be happening again. Not _again!_

Something was trying to restrain him and he pulled against it, fighting free as he stumbled out of the back room into the main area of the shop. The books were alight, pages and ashes floating around, some still smoldering.

"Aziraphale!" he cried, whipping around. Something caught at him and he once again fought free, running frantically around the shop in search of his friend.

"Aziraphale!" Terror and smoke choked him and he felt his chest spasm. Where was the angel? He had been lucky last time, but this time?

Something brushed against his face and that was when Crowley realized that not all the stuff floating around was burning paper and the ashes of Aziraphale's precious books.

Some of it was feathers.

"Angel! Where are you?" Crowley screamed before someone grabbed hold of him, holding him tight.

"Crowley!" a voice said as if from far away.

"Let me go!" Crowley cried, wrenching free. "I have to save my friend, I have to…"

"Crowley, It's me—Aziraphale. I'm right here. Look at me!"

Crowley blinked then, and a figure materialized in front of him. For a moment, he saw a halo, and then the familiar features.

Then the halo turned red and orange and _burning_, and he realized that Aziraphale was _on fire, _wings disappearing under the ravenous flames.

Crowley keened and reeled back, only to trip over something and fall.

He fell for ages, darkness overcoming him and for the moment he knew no more.

XXX

Aziraphale picked Crowley up and gently deposited him back onto the couch, shaken at his shocking outburst. He'd just turned away for a second to freshen the cloth when Crowley had sat up with a gasp, eyes open, but unseeing, then he had fought Aziraphale and dashed off into the bookstore, shouting for him.

Aziraphale had felt completely helpless. He was there after all, Crowley just wasn't able to see him for some reason. But the demon seemed quiet enough now and Aziraphale cautiously went to retrieve the journal he had been using to research the cursed object.

"Ah," he murmured to himself as he found the one Crowley had dropped. Apparently it was a fear talisman. A sort of bad luck charm that would reduce the victim to hallucinations and false terror until they did themselves harm. Unfortunately, it looked like the only way to reverse the effects was to destroy the thing completely.

Aziraphale was planning on doing just that when he turned around, having taken his eyes off Crowley while he sat at his desk to read, and had a bit of a fright to see the demon standing there behind him.

"Oh, Crowley, what are you doing, dear? You're not well, you need to lay down."

"You killed my friend," Crowley snarled and that was all the warning Aziraphale got before the demon launched himself at him, hands closing around his throat. "You killed my best friend, you _bastard!"_

"Crow-ley!" Aziraphale choked out, trying to extricate himself from Crowley's grip without hurting him. The demon threw him backwards and he stumbled over the coffee table, falling in the space between it and the couch as Crowley simply leapt on top of him, beating at him with his fists.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale shouted, warding off as many of the blows as he could, but some still landed, one giving him a bloody nose. He swore, and made a quick decision, reaching up to grab a heavy tome from the table.

"I'm sorry, dear boy," he murmured before he slammed the book into Crowley's head.

The demon dropped instantly, sprawling across the couch and Aziraphale got up, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his nose before he put Crowley back on the couch, tutting regretfully as he saw the large welt on the demon's temple from giving him a good cosh with the book.

With another regretful decision, Aziraphale quickly grabbed some sheets and used them to restrain Crowley, making sure he wouldn't run off. He hated doing it, but it was better than the demon running out into the street. In his current state, he could be a danger to either himself or any innocent bystander who happened to get in the way.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I promise it's for the best," he said and got up to retrieve that cursed talisman.

He took it into the kitchenette and placed it in the sink. Fire usually did the trick with things like this, and he would use holy oil to start it for extra effect. He had some in the cupboard though he couldn't remember the last time he'd had need of it.

Just as he doused the talisman in the oil, he heard grunting from the other room and glanced over his shoulder worriedly. He really hoped this worked.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Crowley cried before he let out a guttural scream, causing Aziraphale to close his eyes, hating to hear his friend's suffering.

"Only a few more moments, Crowley," he murmured to himself, as he found a match and struck it, throwing it into the sink.

The oil lit instantly and flames rose up, causing Aziraphale to step back.

But when the fire had receded, the talisman was nothing but ash and Aziraphale quickly washed it down the drain before he rushed back into the study.

"Crowley?" he called.

The demon was silent, laying still on the couch. Aziraphale put a hand to his brow and was glad to see that his fever was already miraculously receding. At least it seemed like destroying the object was working and quickly.

He quickly started to undo the restraints, seeing that Crowley had pulled them extremely tight in his struggling, leaving marks in his pale flesh.

The demon stirred with a groan, eyes fluttering, as Aziraphale finished untying the restraints.

"A-angel?"

Aziraphale crouched beside his head and took Crowley's hand, making sure he knew he was really there. "I'm here, Crowley. How do you feel?"

Crowley groaned. "What…happened?"

Aziraphale sighed. "You dropped one of the cursed objects and it affected you rather badly, I'm afraid. But it's over now."

Crowley frowned as if trying to piece something together. His eyes widened and he tried to push himself up.

"The—the shop…fire…" he frowned and then slumped in relief. "It wasn't real."

Aziraphale smiled reassuringly. "No. Nothing you saw was real. It was just hallucination. The talisman is supposed to latch on to your fears."

Crowley shifted uncomfortably for a moment. He looked at Aziraphale and his eyes widened. "Your face…did I…? Did _I _do that?" he asked in horror.

"Oh, it's nothing, it will be gone in a couple hours," Aziraphale assured him. "I don't think you thought I was me. And besides, it's only fair really. I'm afraid I had to incapacitate you with a rather large book."

Crowley looked slightly affronted and reached up to gingerly touch the spot on his head with the welt. "Is that why my head hurts? Because you hit me with a whopping great book?"

"Now, don't be like that, I had to do something," Aziraphale said, then stood up. "How about a nice cup of tea? I think I could use one after that."

Crowley nodded in agreement and Aziraphale returned to the kitchen to make a pot, breathing a sigh of relief himself that everything was back to normal again.


	12. Day Twenty-Three: "Stay Quiet"

Aziraphale wiped his palms on his coat. He was nervous about being called unexpectedly to Heaven. He'd thought they were done with him. But he also wasn't above helping if it was urgent. He just wished he didn't have to see Gabriel while he was there. The angel had made it perfectly clear that he didn't care if Aziraphale lived or died—permanently.

Crowley hadn't liked the thought of Aziraphale going to the meeting either, convinced it was a trap, but Aziraphale was, perhaps against his better judgement, willing to give his former co-workers the benefit of the doubt. After all, he was still an angel, it was his job to help those in need. And if Heaven was in need, he would help them too, though a naughty part of him said they didn't deserve it.

The angel he stumbled across first seemed surprised to see him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, almost suspicious.

"I was summoned," Aziraphale said, feeling even more self-conscious. "By Gabriel."

"Oh." She gave a sharp nod. "He's in his office."

Aziraphale made his way toward the archangel's office and knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the businesslike reply.

Aziraphale went in and found the archangel sitting at his desk, playing with a fountain pen.

"Ah, Aziraphale, thanks for coming. Have a seat."

Aziraphale approached the desk and took the seat opposite the archangel, noticing that it was quite a bit lower than Gabriel's. He straightened as much as he could in compensation.

"Why did you call me?" he asked finally after a moment of obviously intentional silence, deciding it was best to get straight to business.

"Ah, well, you see, Aziraphale, with you not working for us any more, we've been missing our ground team. We know you're still performing unsanctioned miracles, but you do realize that you don't have half the power you would if you were still working for us."

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a thin line. "That is true, but I didn't think you wanted me."

"Well, whether we _want_ you or not is irrelevant. It appears we… underestimated your usefulness," Gabriel huffed. "So, I want to offer you a deal."

"A deal," Aziraphale repeated.

"Yes. Break your ties with that demon, and come work for us again, we'll give you your old powers back—we'll even promote you if you do your job well." He leaned forward, a cold gleam in his eye. "If you accept this offer, you won't have issues like with that car crash last week. Working for us, you would have been able to save everybody."

Aziraphale felt a chill go up his spine, not only for the fact Gabriel had been keeping track of him, but also because that crash had been terrible. He and Crowley had done what they could, but they could only do so many miracles.

But still, he knew enough to be sure that Gabriel was lying. He _could_ come back, but then what? They would do their best to brainwash him, control him, limit his ability to perform miracles to only the ones they wanted him to. And, of course, he and Crowley would have to go back to the old days of their Arrangement, and they had been doing so many good things. Helping with strange disturbances, as well as normal ones. They'd gotten used to being on their own side.

So he drew a breath and looked Gabriel directly in the eye. "Thank you for the offer—it is most generous. But I'm afraid I cannot accept it."

He stood and started toward the door, when Gabriel was suddenly behind him, slamming a hand against the door before Aziraphale could open it, hemming the lesser angel in.

"Not so fast," the archangel said, steel in his voice. "You think I'm just going to let you walk out of here? No. You're not leaving until you agree to my terms. This isn't up for debate. We need to know what Hell is planning, what the antichrist might be planning—you're the only one he'll allow to get close to him."

"Get another angel to do your dirty work," Aziraphale said icily. "I'm not going to be your attack dog, and I know that's what you want me for."

Gabriel smiled, but there was no humor in it. "You always were too smart for your own good." He slammed a fist into Aziraphale's stomach and the lesser angel folded with a wheeze. Gabriel then threw him to the ground, kicking him several more times before hauling him back up and slamming him into the chair, hand around his throat.

"I can be very persuasive when I want to be," he growled. "Things are a mess since Armageddon didn't happen and I need someone to help me fix it."

"To make you look good, you mean?" Aziraphale choked out.

Gabriel snarled, slamming a fist into his face. "The mess was all your fault anyway. It's only fair that you fix it."

Aziraphale lashed out, but Gabriel grabbed his wrist and twisted. Aziraphale cried out before the archangel's hand was over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks savagely.

"Shh. Don't want to alert the others that you're here. You see, you'd be working for me directly. They never need to know."

Aziraphale's eyes widened. The other angels didn't even know about Gabriel's plan. Typical. He would have Aziraphale do stuff and take all the credit himself. He struggled, and grunted, trying to break free of Gabriel's hold.

The archangel's only response was to slam a fist into his stomach again. "Do not ruin this for me," Gabriel snarled. "So be a good little angel, and stay quiet."

Aziraphale cried out again in indignation, and Gabriel slammed his head against the desk, making everything go woozy, hand still held painfully over his mouth.

"Now," Gabriel said, leaning in closer, whispering himself now as there were footsteps heard out in the hallway. "Let's have a more informed chat and talk stakes."

Aziraphale's wide eyes met Gabriel's as he struggled in the archangel's grip. Gabriel gave a tight smile and dug his fingers into Aziraphale's cheeks, and Aziraphale realized there was little point to the conversation. Gabriel had been waiting for this for a long time, and no matter Aziraphale's answer, he was going to enjoy himself.

He moaned and struggled again, but Gabriel shook his face warningly.

"Ah-ah. Not a sound. Unless you have a yes for me, you can just stay quiet."

XXX

Crowley gave Aziraphale twenty-four hours and then he went off with the plans to storm Heaven—well, to sneak into Heaven, but the result would be the same. Saving his stupid friend from whatever he had willingly walked into.

Part of Crowley still hoped it was just some conference meeting run long—angels had no concept of time, after all—but the more logical part of him that had _warned_ Aziraphale beforehand, knew that it had been a trap, and his friend was probably in a lot of trouble.

Getting into Heaven was not easy for demons, but Crowley had learned a few tricks—after grilling Aziraphale, mostly for this reason. Now he was glad he had.

So getting into Heaven wasn't the problem. Finding Aziraphale was.

He'd found him once before in a cell in what Heaven had passed as a prison. Was he there again? But why?

Crowley had to hide quickly as he heard voices. He sneered; it was that bastard Gabriel.

"Well, do it! I don't have time for this!"

"But sir, we need you to oversee it," another angel said.

Gabriel heaved a huge sigh. "Very well." A door slammed and footsteps came closer. Crowley pressed himself against the wall, willing them not to see him, but the two angels continued on their way.

Crowley furrowed his brow. Gabriel's office. Maybe there was a clue there.

He slipped down the hallway and to the first room, opening the door.

He happened to get lucky.

There was a gasp, then, cautiously, "…Crowley?"

"Aziraphale?" Crowley demanded, rushing toward the corner where Aziraphale was manacled, the chain from the cuffs locked through the handle of a drawer. Crowley took in his battered appearance with fury and reached out to do what he could to break the cuffs.

"Gabriel…ha-has the key," Aziraphale said, voice still soft and hesitant.

Crowley frowned, but turned to the desk. He snatched a pen and took it apart before finding a piece slim enough to fit into the cuffs. Within a few seconds he had snapped them open.

"Come on, let's go."

He hauled Aziraphale to his feet and the angel inhaled sharply, face scrunching in pain. Crowley felt rage wash over him, but he would worry about that later. He just needed to get them out of here first.

They made their way back down the hallway and toward the way Crowley had gotten in. He was mostly supporting the angel, and that would prove a problem if they needed to move fast.

And it seemed that would be put to the test.

Footsteps approached, and Crowley recognized the gait as Gabriel's. He hissed a curse as they came closer.

"Crowley, what—" Aziraphale started before Crowley frantically shoved him back around the corner, a hand pressed over his mouth.

"Shh, stay quiet," he hissed.

Aziraphale froze, but not in a good way.

Crowley felt his rigidity and looked up at him. The angel's eyes were glazed and his pulse had quickened. It was then that Crowley noticed the bruises in the same place his fingers pressed against Aziraphale's cheeks. And he knew exactly why the angel had reacted in that way.

_Shit_, he cursed silently and quickly pulled his hand away, taking Aziraphale's face between his hands. "I'm sorry, angel," he whispered. "I didn't mean it, you know I didn't."

Aziraphale looked away, lips clamped tight. They waited until the footsteps receded again. They only had a moment to escape before Gabriel realized Aziraphale wasn't there.

"Let's go," Crowley said and hauled Aziraphale toward the exit.

They slipped through just as Gabriel cried out in anger.

They were back in London before they knew it, and Aziraphale collapsed against Crowley, panting, a few errant tears slipping from his eyes.

"Come on, angel, let's get you home," Crowley murmured and helped him into the waiting Bentley.

Aziraphale said nothing all the way back to the bookshop. It wasn't until Crowley made tea and fetched what he needed to clean the angel's injuries that he addressed the issue.

"Aziraphale, you can speak—please. Talk to me," he nearly pleaded.

Aziraphale took a shaky sip of his tea, and Crowley noticed him wince at his split lip that had likely gotten smashed against his teeth.

It took a long moment before he actually did speak. "He didn't want the other angels to know he had me there," Aziraphale said simply.

Crowley refrained from throwing something but only barely. The only thing that kept him from doing so was because nothing in the shop was Gabriel.

Instead, he sat opposite Aziraphale and put a hand on his knee, fighting back his anger. That wouldn't help his friend right now. "Next time, will you listen to me when I tell you something is probably a trap?" he pleaded.

Aziraphale nodded and sipped more tea. "I just wanted to help," he whispered.

Crowley's stupid heart broke. How dare Gabriel make his angel feel like rubbish? Especially when Aziraphale was one of the only truly _good_ angels Heaven had to offer. Crowley vowed that the next time he saw Gabriel, he was going to beat the prick's face in.

"You already help, angel," Crowley said, gripping his friend's shoulder gently. "We both do. And we don't need Heaven or Hell to tell us how to do it either."

Aziraphale forced a small, wavering smile, but he looked up to meet Crowley's eyes. "Yes. Yes, I suppose we do."


	13. Day Twenty-Four: Secret Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another historical one! This is set during WWII

Aziraphale had made quite a few more desperate escapes with Crowley than he wanted to think about during the course of their long, long Arrangement.

One of their most desperate though, entailed leading Jewish children out of Berlin through the sewers during the Nazi occupation.

More angels and demons than just himself and Crowley were walking the earth now—important business, this war. But they were the only ones bothering to care about the people getting caught in the crossfire and had agreed upon a truce to the Arrangement, simply banding together to save as many as possible.

This whole situation started off as desperate. Crowley had connections with other demons in the SS so he was able to find out when and where they moved. Aziraphale had joined some resistance fighters, and performed quite a few miracles to go unseen to the ghettos and gather as many children as possible.

He was currently waiting with them in an abandoned factory for Crowley to come give the all clear.

"It won't be long now," he whispered.

"Oi, angel."

Aziraphale looked up with a sigh of relief, seeing Crowley come inside, taking off his cap.

Some of the children recognized his outfit and balked, and Aziraphale gave him a long-suffering look.

"Sorry," Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. "Didn't have time to change." He snapped his fingers and was in a normal black suit. "Now let's go, we don't have much time."

Together, they ushered the children to the nearest sewer entrance and Crowley went down first, reaching up to help the first children down.

"Alright, come on, little ones."

Aziraphale urged them down the ladder and Crowley caught and counted them so they would know if any got left behind.

It went well for the most part, until there was a shout, and flashing torches, coming in their direction.

"Crowley, a patrol!" Aziraphale hissed down the hole.

Crowley cursed and raised his arms. "Alright, the rest of you just jump. I'll catch you!"

The last few children did as they were told, too terrified not to. Aziraphale positioned himself in front of them, spreading his wings protectively though they were still invisible.

The SS officers jogged around the corner and Aziraphale felt his heart beat faster as he saw they were not just Nazis but some of Crowley's co-workers.

"Go, go," he hissed to the children. "Hurry, dears!"

"Well, well, a halo out here after curfew," one sneered, raising a pistol. "You know what we do to those who break the rules, don't you?"

"And you know what I'm obligated to do with demons," Aziraphale said, straightening his shoulders.

The demons chuckled cruelly. "I think we should take him in for…questioning," the other suggested with a leer. "Angels always scream so pretty."

The last of the children were in the sewer now and Aziraphale hoped Crowley was starting off.

"Aziraphale!" the muffled shout came. "Come on!"

"Bugger," Aziraphale breathed and simply turned to quickly descend.

The demons shouted, and a shot rang out. Aziraphale felt something slam into his stomach and he yelped, snapping his fingers to replace the manhole cover and carve runes into it that would keep the demons from being able to open it.

"Angel?"

"I'm here, just go!" Aziraphale shouted to Crowley who was thankfully too far down the tunnel to see that he was injured.

The bullet hurt far worse than it should have and Aziraphale realized, with a sinking feeling that it had probably been made to purposefully hurt angels. As soon as the demons had found out about their activity in the war, they had taken a certain pleasure in hunting them down, making a sport of it. Aziraphale had already had too many close calls and had really only escaped as many times as he had thanks to Crowley.

But he swallowed the pain and urged the children forward, bringing up the rear as Crowley led from the front, his eyes better in the dark.

Halfway to their destination, Aziraphale's wound was burning. He could feel the blood dripping down, seeping into his clothes. He pressed his hand against it, but couldn't heal himself until the bullet was out. He paused briefly to take a breath.

"Are you okay?" a girl whispered.

Aziraphale straightened with a smile. "I'm fine, just tired. We need to keep going." He called up to Crowley. "How much farther?"

"Not too far," Crowley replied.

And a few minutes later, a glow appeared indicating the end of the tunnel. They came out into the moonlit night and right where it was promised, a truck belonging to another resistance fighter was waiting, ready to bear the children to safety.

"Ah, thank the Lord, we made it," Aziraphale sighed in relief, trying not to cringe at the pain coming from his wound.

Crowley cringed at his phrasing. "Yeah, right, well, let's get the kids in here and get going."

The driver came out and helped them lift the children up into the back of the truck. They had just gotten the last ones in, when another truck came driving down the road.

"Are you expecting anyone else?" Crowley asked the driver.

The man shook his head. "No."

"We need to leave," Crowley snapped, and he and Aziraphale climbed into the back of the truck too. Aziraphale almost cried out from his wound, but he bit his lip. He couldn't have Crowley worrying over him now.

"Angel!" Crowley said, tossing him a gun that Aziraphale barely caught. "We have to deter them."

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a disapproving line, but they were saving children and their pursuers were probably demons anyway. He cocked the gun and turned to the children. "Get down, all of you."

The truck started out with a jolt that sent pain wracking through Aziraphale and they trundled down the road. The other truck followed quickly.

That is until Crowley, shouting to Aziraphale, started shooting the tires out.

Aziraphale did the same and blew one out with perfect aim.

The truck halted and angry shouts could be heard.

Crowley whooped and turned around to grin at Aziraphale. "Nice shot, angel!"

Aziraphale gave a weak smile, unable to hide the pain any longer. He gave a small, wet cough, and Crowley frowned in concern, moving to sit beside him.

"Is that blood?" he asked, gesturing to Aziraphale's shirt. "Aziraphale is that _your_ blood?" He reached out and pulled the angel's coat open, revealing a shirt soaked in blood.

Aziraphale wasn't able to reply. He swallowed convulsively, but a little blood dribbled from his mouth and he felt himself drifting off. The last thing he heard was distressed sounds from the children as Crowley caught him when he collapsed sideways.

XXX

When Aziraphale awoke it was to a sunlit room and a comfortable bed with white sheets. He groaned, face scrunching in confusion.

"Angel!"

He blinked and turned his head to one side, seeing Crowley leaning over his bed.

"Crowley?" he asked.

The demon looked upset. "You idiot! Why didn't you tell me you had been shot by a demonic bullet! You couldn't have died!"

"Had to get the children out," Aziraphale said tiredly, putting a hand to his stomach where he felt bandages. It was tender, but nothing like it had been.

Crowley ran a hand over his face, letting out a pent-up breath.

"How are the children?" Aziraphale asked.

"Fine, they're all fine," Crowley assured him. "Worried about you."

Aziraphale smiled slightly, touched. "Crowley, I am fine, you know, or, I will be soon enough."

The demon gave him a look. "Just don't do that again."

"Believe me, I will endeavor not to," Aziraphale said sincerely.

"Well, you do that. And rest up. This isn't the last of the kids we need to get out."

Aziraphale nodded and closed his eyes again. Next time he would do his best not to get shot.


	14. Day Twenty-Six: Abandoned

To say that the witch trials had been Hell's fault completely was a bit of an over exaggeration. After all, humans didn't really need a shove to be terrible to each other. But to say Hell didn't enjoy the prospect of digging their fingers deeper into that pie would also be an over exaggeration. Hell loved that kind of thing.

Crowley, not so much.

Sure, he had tons of fun messing with people, making little inconveniences that turned into large-scale problems, but none of his commendations had been won for doing things were people actually got hurt. He actually found those kind of things to have a lack of imagination and finesse.

Hastur and Liger on the other hand, (less imagination and finesse between them than in Crowley's little finger) well, anything that was related to death and injury was right up their alley. And somehow, this time, Crowley got dragged along.

It wasn't his idea to stir up trouble in the village, and it certainly wasn't his idea to be bait.

And of course, _of course_, it went wrong, because it always did and _how could it not?_

If it hadn't been the musket balls, it would have been something else. Unfortunately, the witchfinders had taken it upon themselves to use consecrated bullets—better to fight witches with, even though they didn't work on witches.

They did, however, work on demons, as Crowley found out as he took one to the thigh.

It was the shock more than the pain at first that took him to the ground, _then_ the pain started when he tried to get back on his feet to escape the angry mob of villagers with their torches and farm implements. They had already started gathering the bundles of sticks and were setting up the stake, and now they were looking for someone to burn. The demons who had encroached upon their peace would look like good targets.

"Hastur!" Crowley called as the other two demons pounded on ahead as he fought to get his leg under him but the pain sent him back to the ground. "Oi!"

Hastur turned around only briefly and sneered. "On your feet, Crawley!"

Crowley gritted his teeth. "Ligur?!" he appealed. "Lend a hand?"

"Sorry, mate," the other demon said and dashed after his partner in crime.

Crowley could hear the villagers coming. Frantic, he scrambled to his feet, groaning against the pain of the consecrated ball in his leg, as he sought a place to hide in the nearby trees. He would love to shift into snake form, but the ball was preventing that. He was decidedly not in a good way.

"There! There's the witch!" someone cried. Crowley could hear dogs and he knew they would smell his blood. He scrambled to hide, looking for any place that might be good when a cloaked figure stepped out of the trees.

"Here!" the figure hissed.

Crowley at first thought he was calling someone else and balked, but the figure gestured to him and he took a step closer, probably against his better judgement, only to nearly collapse.

The figure gasped softly and rushed to help him. "Always getting yourself into such trouble, my dear."

Crowley looked up in shock. "Aziraphale?" he gaped.

The angel smiled slightly under the hood, and put a finger to his lips. "Shh, they mustn't know I'm hiding a suspected witch."

Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders as the angel supported him further into the woods. Crowley could hear the commotion behind them, and was terrified that at any second, they would find them, but they didn't. Maybe Aziraphale had miracled a false trail or something.

They made it to a small cabin nestled between some trees and Aziraphale opened the door and helped Crowley inside, over to a pallet by a small fire and carefully lowered him down.

"Gah," Crowley cried out, his leg jostling as he tumbled onto the pallet. He curled up, holding the offending limb.

Aziraphale took off his hooded cloak, and crouched to inspect the wound, moving Crowley's hand gently aside to see it. "Oh dear, that looks painful."

"It's a bloody consecrated bullet," Crowley growled and hissed as Aziraphale prodded it gently.

"We'll just have to get it out then," he said matter-of-factly, straightening and bustling around to gather the items he would need.

Crowley glanced around the small hovel. "What are you even doing here, angel?" he asked to distract himself.

Aziraphale sighed. "Keeping those who misuse religion from hurting innocents," he said. "It's such a shame how often things get twisted."

"Heaven help the man who thinks he's doing the right thing, eh?" Crowley quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"I am trying," Aziraphale replied before returning to the demon, setting aside a bowl of water, several rags, and last, a small knife and forceps. Crowley gulped, then frowned as Aziraphale handed him a wooden spoon.

"Wot's that for?"

"To bite. This will not be pleasant." The angel rolled up his sleeves in a businesslike manner and Crowley swiftly shoved the spoon between his teeth.

Aziraphale ripped his trousers further to see the wound and then pressed his lips together, reaching for the knife and forceps.

Crowley didn't like one second of it. The angel had to widen the wound to get the bullet out and he thought _that_ was bad but when Aziraphale went in with the forceps, that was even more agonizing. He tossed his head back, teeth nearly breaking the spoon from his clenching, and screamed. His fingers dug into the pallet so he wouldn't punch the angel, because he _really_ wanted to at the moment.

Except for the fact that Aziraphale had saved him when his own fellow demons had abandoned him; that counted for something.

But still, did it have to hurt _that bad?_

"Ah, there you are you little nuisance," Aziraphale muttered and gave one last agonizing tug as the ball came out of Crowley's leg.

He groaned and collapsed limply on the pallet, letting the spoon fall from between his teeth, sweat pouring off him.

He felt Aziraphale tying something about his leg and then there was a pat on his knee.

"There we go, all done."

"Ngk," was all Crowley could manage.

He listened to Aziraphale cleaning up the medical supplies and then smelled something warm and spicy. A few minutes later, Aziraphale knelt beside him again and Crowley forced his eyes open to see the angel holding a cup.

"I have some mulled wine with a few herbs that will help with the pain—well, they do for humans anyway. I don't know if they'd work on the likes of you and me, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to try."

Crowley struggled up into a semi sitting position and took the cup. It was warm and the mulled wine was surprisingly good. He didn't know if it really did anything for his leg, but it was the thought that counted.

Once he had finished, his leg did feel a little better. It was starting to heal now that the bullet was out. He set the cup aside and started to get to his feet.

"Thanks for the save, angel, but I really must be going."

Aziraphale got off the stool he had been sitting on. "No! Not after I went through the trouble of saving you! You'll just get captured again in your condition."

"I can't bring trouble here."

"You won't. No one will find this place unless they need to, I've made sure of that," Aziraphale told him, then softened. "You're safe here, Crowley. Rest until you are fully healed."

Crowley slumped back against the wall, relief washing over him. Honestly, that actually sounded kind of nice.


	15. Day Twenty-Seven: Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a note on posting for the last few days of Whumptober: (hopefully this isn't too confusing) but the next Good Omens prompt (Coming Oct. 30th) will be posted as a separate one-shot because it's directly related to my stories "The Arrangement" and "Crossfire" and I thought it would be better to post it by itself. The last two prompts of Whumptober I will be posting both Good Omens and Supernatural fills because I couldn't decide which I wanted to do and they were both so lovely and comforty prompts to end this month of whump on ^_^ 
> 
> So I'll see you again with "Recovery" on the 30th as your next Good Omens fill which will be posted by itself, and then the last prompt, "Embrace" will be posted to this collection on the 31st.

Crowley raced the Bentley to the meeting spot, hands so tight on the wheel that his knuckles turned white. He glanced over to the passenger seat where the package was. Aziraphale would discorporate him for sure when he found out about this, but at least he'd be alive.

Crowley just hoped he would be in one piece. Hastur had a pretty loose idea of what 'alive' meant.

He screeched to a stop at the appointed meeting place, seeing one of Hastur's lackeys waiting off the side of the road in the secluded area.

Crowley got out, striding purposefully toward the other car. "Where is he? Where's Hastur?"

"Where's the goods?" the demon asked blandly.

Crowley snarled at him. "I need to see Hastur first."

The demon sneered back but went to fetch the other demon. Crowley paced in agitation, begging this whole thing to hurry up. He needed to know if Aziraphale was okay.

"Hello, Crowley."

Crowley whipped around as Hastur appeared, a self-satisfied smirk on the bastard's face. Crowley took a step forward, fists clenched.

"Where's the angel, Hastur?"

Hastur's smirk grew into a full, terrible grin. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Crowley snarled, but tried to keep himself in check. "You know how a ransom works right? I need to see proof of life before I hand over the item."

"I could just have my boys take you now and have two birds in the bush," Hastur replied. Crowley didn't think that was how that saying went, but he didn't have time to mention it. He pulled himself up straighter, tried to look like he meant business.

"And if you do, how do you know that I won't try the same trick I used on Liger."

Mentioning the other demon didn't do Crowley any favors, but it did have the desired effect as Hastur did actually look like he was thinking. What a shock.

"You're bluffing," the demon finally sneered.

"Am I?" Crowley shrugged. "I'm pals with an angel, Hastur, you don't know what I've got up my sleeve. And remember…I'm immune now."

That gave Hastur pause and Crowley noticed with satisfaction that the other demons had started to back away.

"Fine," Hastur snarled and snapped his fingers at one of the demons. "Go get the pigeon—if there's anything left of him worth having."

This last was directed right at Crowley and the demon tried his best not to let it show how much he wanted to punch Hastur right in his ugly mug now.

Still, when the demons dragged Aziraphale out—and they did literally drag him—Crowley was unable to keep his cool anymore.

"Angel!" he cried, starting forward instinctively, before Hastur slammed a hand against his chest, shoving him back with that satisfied smirk back on his face.

Crowley felt all his fury skyrocket upon finally seeing Aziraphale. The angel was thrown to the ground with a short cry, one of the demons kicking him in the side for good measure. He looked bloody awful. The demons had obviously all taken turns beating him, and what was worse were his wings, his beautiful white wings, which were currently corporeal. They were covered in dirt, his feathers all disheveled, some of them missing all together.

"You bastard," Crowley growled at Hastur, wishing he _did_ have holy water. He would douse that grinning face and watch it melt.

Hastur just chuckled and shoved Crowley further away. "Bring me the trade or I'll make you watch the boys pluck him like a Christmas turkey."

Aziraphale's head rose, catching Crowley's eye briefly before one of the demons, stomped on the back of his head, smashing his face into the dirt. Crowley wanted to melt _all_ of them with holy water.

"Fine," he snapped and strode back to the car, throwing the package on the ground at Hastur's feet. Aziraphale groaned. Crowley almost wanted to roll his eyes. The angel was just going to have to let Crowley rescue him and that's that.

"Here, take it and leave," Crowley snarled.

Hastur nodded to one of the demons to come pick up the package and unwrap it. Hastur took the book into his hands, looked it over, then nodded.

"Let's go," he said, before he and the other demons melted into the ground, getting to Hell the quick way.

Crowley waited all of one second before bolting toward Aziraphale.

"Angel," he cried, reaching down to help Aziraphale into a sitting position, careful of his wings. "Oh Go—Satan—_somebody,_ you look terrible!"

Aziraphale groaned, gripping Crowley's forearms weakly. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut and there was blood in his hair and on his upper lip from his nose. He pulled the angel shakily to his feet and wrapped Aziraphale's arm over his shoulders to support him as they shuffled back to the Bentley.

"You gave them the book," Aziraphale slurred around a fat lip.

Crowley did roll his eyes this time. "To save you, you idiot! You'd have done the same."

Aziraphale sighed, but didn't argue the point. Crowley gently tucked him into the Bentley after he had put his wings back to the ethereal plane. Crowley got in behind the wheel and drove directly back to the bookshop.

Neither of them spoke on the way, though Crowley kept shooting glances at Aziraphale, who was slumped against the door, eyes closed. He swallowed worriedly and drove a little faster.

When they got back to the bookshop, Crowley helped the angel inside and settled him onto the couch before he ran to grab cloths and bandages and iodine and whatever was needed.

"Just sit tight," he said, then, in a quieter voice. "I'm sorry, angel."

Aziraphale looked up at him then winced as Crowley started to dab at the cuts on his face. "It's not your fault Crowley. Only…oh dear, that book really shouldn't be in their hands! It's very dangerous."

Crowley couldn't help a small smirk of his own now. "What makes you think I actually gave them the book?"

Aziraphale's one non-swollen eye widened. "You tricked them?"

"Just a little illusion. You know me, angel, I'm not above a little miracle."

Aziraphale relaxed a little bit. Then frowned. "Wait, which book did you use then?"

"Erm," Crowley bit his lip. "Em, you know, they all look the same to me."

"Crowley!"

"Don't you worry your head about it right now, Aziraphale. Here, let me help you with your wings they're a right mess."

"Now I'm going to have to catalogue everything to find out what's missing!" the angel moaned, even though he materialized his wings for Crowley to preen.

"Oi, I saved your life!"

Aziraphale sighed, and relaxed slightly as Crowley began to wash the dirt out of his wings and run his fingers through them to set them to rights. "Yes, you did, and I'm grateful, my dear."

Crowley supposed that was as good as he was going to get at the moment, and continued with his careful ministrations until Aziraphale started to nod off.

He knew he hadn't heard the last word about the book, but, well, he had his friend back, and to Crowley that was all that mattered.


	16. Day Thirty-One: Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final day of Whumptober, and I've had such a blast this year! Thanks for all the support you guys have given me. It makes me happy to know you all enjoy these fics ^_^ (Here's to doing it again next year!)
> 
> Special thanks to my guest reviewers who I won't be able to reply to!
> 
> This is for 29Pieces who helped me come up with the plot for this ^_^

"Aziraphale, duck!"

Crowley watched the angel leap out of the way before the blast of magic the witch had thrown at him smashed into a table, shattering it. Crowley gulped and gripped the strange gun they would use to take her down. (He had stolen it from Shadwell, one of the few things the witchfinder actually had that really worked, and of course that meant it had been tucked away into obscurity. Lucky for Crowley and Aziraphale, though.)

The witch cackled. "You two think you can escape me? I've taken down greater things than you! And if you think my magic won't work on you, you're wrong!"

This time she directed her attack toward Crowley, who leapt to the side, throwing himself out of the way as a blast of magic exploded over his head.

He cried out, the sound concussing his ears. He slammed into the ground and the gun flew from his hand on impact.

Crowley cursed, scrabbling for it as he heard the witch approaching.

"Over here you…old hag!"

Aziraphale taunted the witch, and Crowley rolled his eyes, but used the distraction to grab the gun and scramble to his feet again.

The witch snarled, hands forming claws as she gazed between the two. "You two come into my house and attack me! What do you expect me to do to you, hm?"

"You've been killing people with magic all over the city," Aziraphale accused her, pointing a finger.

"And, you see, this is our city," Crowley told her with a proud smile. "We protect it, and the people who live here."

"So, we truly are sorry," Aziraphale said, and he actually sounded sincere. "But we must stop you one way or another."

"For the record, I'm not really sorry," Crowley added and raised the gun.

The witch shrieked, causing both of them to cover their ears, and her shriek flung them across the room, both to slam into the walls again.

Crowley lost his gun for a second time, which was all kinds of embarrassing, and Aziraphale smashed a vase and a table, laying in the wreckage with a groan.

"You have no claim to this city," the witch growled. "And I will prove it!" She started chanting a spell as Crowley and Aziraphale got to their feet, Crowley reaching for the gun again. They couldn't let her finish.

But it was already too late.

"No!" Aziraphale cried, rushing forward as the witch spun toward Crowley.

It all happened so quickly.

The witch finished her spell and a blast of power surged out in Crowley's direction. Crowley was already leaping for the gun when Aziraphale dashed in front of him. Crowley's fingers were already on the gun, and he didn't have time to both grab that and pull Aziraphale away.

The spell hit the angel and he froze instantly—no, didn't freeze, _turned to stone_.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley shouted.

The witch cackled. "He's dead now, demon!" she shrieked. "He'll shatter into a million pieces!" She reached out and gave Aziraphale a little nudge, causing him to teeter.

Crowley whipped the gun up and fired.

The bullet, or whatever it was, hit the witch right in the center of the chest and she finally stopped cackling. She looked down in shock and then she simply melted with a horrifying shriek.

Crowley threw the gun aside, and lunged toward Aziraphale as his stone body began to fall. Crowley caught him just before he hit the floor, panting with relief.

"Aziraphale, come on, angel," he said.

The witch was dead now, her spell should wear off—right? But the seconds ticked by and turned into minutes and Aziraphale still didn't stir. He was still just a lump of stone in Crowley's arms.

"No," the demon whispered, then louder. "No, no, no!" He shook the statue of his friend. "Come on, angel! Don't do this to me! Please. _Please!_ Come back!"

Aziraphale's stone eyes simply stared at nothing, and Crowley choked on a sob. He pulled the statue closer, resting his face on Aziraphale's stone curls as he fought with reality. He couldn't lose his best friend, he just couldn't. If he did he would be completely alone, and Crowley didn't really do alone well. He just wouldn't accept this as reality. He _couldn't._

He didn't know how long he was stayed there, rocking the stone Aziraphale, before something tickled his nose, and if he didn't know better, he would think it was blond curls. Then he thought he imagined that the body in his arms gave a little, soft, warm flesh and not cold stone.

He couldn't give himself false hope though. He wouldn't do that.

But he definitely didn't hallucinate the hand that gripped the front of his coat or the familiar voice that said, "Crowley?"

Crowley raised his head slowly, and blinked down at Aziraphale—flesh and blood again. The angel sat up with a confused look on his face, putting a hand on Crowley's shoulder.

"My dear, what happened? Is the witch dead?"

Crowley didn't reply, and simply yanked Aziraphale back into his arms, crushing him. The angel gave a startled yelp, but didn't try to pull away. Not that Crowley would have let him.

"What happened?! I thought I had lost you, that's what happened!" he cried. Pulling away enough to look Aziraphale in the face. "You idiot! Why would you jump in front of her like that?!"

"Well, I don't know, she was going after you…"

Crowley huffed and yanked him close again, resting his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, just reveling in the fact that he was flesh and blood, not stone. Aziraphale eventually returned the embrace, patting Crowley's back soothingly as he continued to tremble, trying to fight the emotions roiling inside of him. Why must he always think he had lost his best friend? He didn't think he would survive another fake out like this.

"My dear, are you planning on letting go, anytime soo—"

"No," Crowley growled simply, squeezing Aziraphale tighter. "Not yet."

"Oh," Aziraphale replied and Crowley heard the smile in his voice. "Alright, then."

Aziraphale then held Crowley just as tightly, and for a moment, everything felt right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed Whumptober I love reviews and coffee! I have a Ko-Fi and if you want to provide me with a coffee you can find me @LadyWallace
> 
> And I'm curious to see which of the stories you liked most this month. I may consider extending some of them into full-fledged stories at some point, but I wanted to see which ones you guys enjoyed most first.
> 
> Also, don't get sad yet, because I'm posting a whole new Good Omens one shot tomorrow and I'll be back to my regular Monday/Friday posting schedule again with lots of fun stuff coming up ^_^


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